


If losing things is for picking them back up

by NinthFeather



Category: Gundam 00
Genre: (it's not like GN particles actually make sense in canon anyway), Age Regression/De-Aging, Child Soldiers, Dubious Science, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Harm to Children, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, past human experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 23:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12286563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinthFeather/pseuds/NinthFeather
Summary: The Meisters should know better than to get close to a ruptured GN Drive, and there are...consequences.It's all well and good to say no one's allowed to talk about their pasts, but what's an armed organization supposed to do when said pasts are running loose on their ship, completely unaware that their very existence is classified?(Or, in which the author misuses canonically handwavey GN particle science for deaging fic purposes)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a first chapter of a thing for Gundam 00’s 10th Anniversary! Completely unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own. The title is from the AnimeLyrics translation of Tomorrow (Marina and the orphans’ song). 
> 
> Also, if you generally need warnings for fics, I’d check out the end note. This fic is intended to be more on the light side, even when it hits angst territory (because it’s Gundam, this will happen), but there’s one place this chapter where something a bit darker than intended slipped in. That said, have fun and please forgive me my self-indulgence (though to be fair all of my Gundam fic is self-indulgent especially since I wrote half of it when no one was reading Gundam fic at all).

When Ian got to the hangar, the four Gundam Meisters were clustered around Kyrios’s GN Drive, even as it leaked GN particles into the hangar from a meters-long gash that was glowing faintly pink at the edges.

“What are you doing?” Ian demanded, incredulous.

Tieria, the furthest from the machine and thus the nearest to him, whirled, started.  “It seems the HRL has developed a new weapon.  We were merely attempting to learn more about it from inspecting the damage it left behind.”

“Without protective clothing?” Ian asked.

Lockon, who had been crouched beside the suit, _poking the damage,_ stood. “You said GN particles were safe,” he said, with a note of accusation to his tone.

“No, I said it was safe to use them as fuel in your machines, and near settled areas,” Ian corrected.  “I’d tell you the same thing about gasoline, or nuclear power.  But standing next to an engine that’s leaking either of those things?”

Lockon’s smile dropped off.

Ian massaged his temples.  “Especially when there’s damage from a weapon we don’t know anything about involved.  Whatever the HRL came up could be harmful, or it could be safe on its own but dangerous when it mixes with GN particles.”

Allelujah swallowed.  “So we messed up.”

“Yeah, you did,” Ian said.  “Just…hit the decontamination showers and then go back to your quarters.  And maybe try not to die on your way there?”

Lockon grinned.  “Always do!”

“Idiot,” Tieria muttered.

Ian waved them off, then headed for where he kept the protective clothing and tried to shove his worry to the back of his head.  They’d probably be fine.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neil didn’t know where he was, and it was starting to scare him.

Nothing about this place was familiar, not the steel walls, not the fluorescent lights mounted on the ceiling above him, and _definitely_ not the window that showed nothing but an expanse of bright, glittering stars.

He’d woken up in the bed, in clothes too big for him—a dorky-looking vest, jeans, and a green t-shirt, along with soft leather gloves.  He liked the gloves, but they were too big for him, and he couldn’t get them to stay on his hands.  And the fact remained that none of these clothes were _his_.  He didn’t quite remember what he’d gone to sleep in, but he didn’t own clothes this huge—why would he?

He didn’t like the thought of someone changing him into different clothes while he was sleeping.  It meant that someone had seen him naked.  Maybe there was a good reason for them to do it, or maybe they had just wanted to see him with no clothes on, and if that was the case, he was in a lot of danger right now.  This could be the kind of thing his parents had warned him about, before he was allowed to wander around the neighborhood alone as a kid.

He wasn’t a kid anymore, though.  He was 15, and practically an adult, and his mom and dad weren’t around to keep him safe.  If someone was planning to hurt him, he could stop them, or at least try.

This didn’t look like a place to keep a kidnapped teenager, though.  There were a few scattered articles of clothing on the floor, and some pictures on the wall.  One of them had a person in it that looked kind of like his one cousin, if he was a little thinner and if he’d started cutting his hair like Lyle and Neil did.

Weird.

Maybe his aunt and uncle had sent him to a different relative without telling him?  That sounded a little too much like a Charles Dickens novel to be real.  But what was the alternative?  His kidnapper just happened to have a picture of some random dude who _really_ looked like him and also had pretty much the same haircut?

He wanted to wake up and find out this was all a dream and he was actually in his bed at his aunt and uncle’s house.  Well, no, he wanted to wake up at _home,_ and find out that the bombing and everything afterward was a dream, but he _always_ wanted that, and it wasn’t going to happen, so he had to grow up and figure this situation out.

Someone had taken him here, maybe a relative, maybe a creep, maybe someone who was both, and if he didn’t _want_ to be here, he needed to find a way to get away from them.  Fighting them outright wasn’t an option.  His uncle kept saying he’d come into his height soon, but for now, he wasn’t that tall for a Dylandy.  If he was going to be up against a full-sized adult, he was going to need something to use as a weapon.

There was a big black bag with a zipper along the side leaning against the far wall that kind of looked like it might have sports equipment inside.  That seemed as good a place to start looking as any.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It wasn’t that unusual for Neil to show up a few minutes late for mission briefings, Ian reflected.  He just wasn’t that careful about time.   Allelujah was usually better, but he did occasionally get absentminded.  Setsuna, despite Tieria’s complaints about his carelessness, was unerringly scrupulous about meetings—if he was late, it was because he’d just gotten off of another mission and was tired enough to sleep through the alarms he’d set to wake himself up.  As for Tieria himself, Ian wondered sometimes if he was capable of being late.

So the fact that not a single one of them had shown up for the briefing was worrying.  Especially since they’d been poking at a broken GN Drive a few hours ago.

“We should go check on them,” Feldt said, glancing up from whatever programming work she was doing on the upper part of the bridge.

“If it was just Lockon, I’d say you were overreacting, but you’re right,” Ms. Sumeragi agreed.   “We’ll have to go get them.  Ian, why don’t you go get Lockon, and I’ll go see what’s keeping Tieria.”  She glanced around the bridge.  “Feldt, go check on Allelujah.  And Lasse, if you aren’t doing anything else, could you get Setsuna?”

“They were poking at a broken GN Drive earlier,” Ian said.  “They could be sick.”

“Well, if we need to, we can call Dr. Moreno,” Ms. Sumeragi replied.  “Let’s not panic until we’re sure something’s wrong.”

Ian nodded and headed off of the bridge.  He heard Chris shout, “Mission start!” as they left, but thought it was probably best to just ignore her.

Seriously, kids.  He still wasn’t sure why there were so many on the crew.

Since Ian’s last interaction with Lockon had involved telling him to go to his room, he decided to check there first.  It wasn’t far from the bridge, anyway, so it was an easy place to start looking.

He rapped gently on the door, expecting to hear an annoyed grumble or maybe the sound of Lockon crossing the room to open the door.  Instead, there was a high-pitched yelp that didn’t sound like Lockon, followed by scuffling noises.

Ian had seen Lockon flirt with half of the crew, so his first thought was one that didn’t really flatter the man.  Then, reality set in.  Lockon flirted, yes, but he also took the mission seriously.  He might well have had one night-stands since they began armed interventions, but not aboard Ptolemy and certainly not during a mission briefing.  

“Hey, Lockon, what’s going on in there?” Ian asked, knocking again.

“Don’t come in!” shouted a voice that was _definitely_ not Lockon.  It was too high, and too young-sounding; Ian would guess whoever it belonged to was closer to Setsuna’s age.

This was just getting bizarre.

“Who are you?” Ian asked.

“I don’t have to answer that!” the kid—Ian was calling the person a kid until evidence to the contrary presented itself—replied.  “And don’t come in!”

Yeah, Ian had no idea what was going on.  Good thing he was the one who programmed everyone’s security passcodes.

He unlocked the door and it slid open to reveal a teenager, definitely younger than Setsuna, brandishing Lockon’s sniper rifle case like some kind of club.

“Okay, kid, why don’t you just put that down,” Ian said, stepping back, hands spread out in front of him.

“I told you not to come in and you came in anyway!” the kid practically screeched.  “How do I know you’re not gonna hurt me if I put it down?”

He was practically vibrating with tension.  The green t-shirt he was wearing was halfway off of his shoulder, and his jeans were rolled up in to thick cuffs around his ankles, and something about all of this was familiar.

And then Ian looked, really looked, at the kid’s face, at narrowed green eyes shaded by messy chestnut-brown bangs.  He swore.

The kid—Lockon—fumbled the case, nearly dropping it and ending up with it held to his chest instead of raised in threat.

“What, you never heard that word before?” Ian asked, smirking.

“No, I’m not a _little kid_ ,” Lockon sneered.  “But you looked surprised, really actually surprised.  I thought you were the one who brought me here.”

“Who brought you—“ Ian broke off.  “Okay, what do you remember?”

The kid blinked.  “I dunno.  I mean, I was at my aunt and uncle’s, like—well, not like normal, but like it is now, and then I woke up in weird clothes here.”

“So you don’t remember anything?” Ian pressed.

“What am I supposed to remember?” Lockon asked.

“How you got here,” Ian said.  “Because you _aren’t_ supposed to be here, at all, and I’d like to get you back home.”

_If he woke up in Lockon’s clothes, it’s probably our Lockon, just…regressed in age, somehow?  But how would I even explain that to him?  And…does this mean—_

There was a scream, and then a loud burst of yelling in a language Ian didn’t speak.  That answered that question.

“I promise, I didn’t kidnap you and I’m not trying to hurt you,” Ian said to Lockon.  “You’re around my kid’s age, actually.  But I’ve gotta go, uh, deal with that, before I answer any more questions.  You can stay here or come with, it’s your choice.”

“I’m coming,” Lockon said, and there was something to the tilt of his jaw that was familiar.  Ian could see his adult self in it.

“Okay,” Ian said.  “You might want to stay behind me, though.  I’m not sure what’s happening; it might not be safe.”

Lockon inched forward, still clutching the rifle case like a security object.

“And leave that here!”  he added.  “You stay away from guns until you’re old enough to get a license.”

The kid actually _pouted,_ but dutifully tucked the case back into his room before following Ian.

“I’m Ian,” he said, holding out a hand to the kid.  “You don’t have to tell me your name.  In fact it’s probably better if you don’t.  But you can call me Ian.”

“Why shouldn’t I tell you my name?” Lockon asked, suspicious again, completely ignoring his hand.  “I thought you weren’t a kidnapper.”

“I’m not, I just—” Ian shook his head.  “Ehhh, do what you want, but we should really go make sure my co-worker is safe.”

“My name’s Neil,” Lockon said, very deliberately shoving his hands into his pockets.  Ian just barely caught a glimpse of some kind of discoloration on his hands.  _Guess he’s self-conscious. Explains why the full-sized version wears gloves._

“Okay, Neil, stick close to me now, just in case,” Ian said, heading down the hallway toward where he really, really hoped he wouldn’t find an even smaller version of Setsuna.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m definitely going with a rotating POV for this fic, I think it makes this more fun. Also, I’ve added some more tags to the AO3 post of this story, because I forgot some and belatedly realized I needed others. This fic is…definitely a bit more intense in some places than I meant for it to be.
> 
> An official thank-you to [Laora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora)/[@durinswizardwheezes](http://durinswizardwheezes.tumblr.com/) for lending me one of her headcanons for this chapter! I hinted at it last chapter, but it specifically comes up this time. It’s a bit of a spoiler, though, so I’ll explain that in the end note. There’s also chapter-specific warnings in the end note if you need them. Finally, keep in mind that this is unbetaed and I did my best.

Lasse hadn’t even gotten to Setsuna’s room to check if he was there before he got rushed by a kid with a knife.  He was _really_ glad he was the one who’d been sent after Setsuna, because whoever this kid was and whatever was going on, he was up for betting that he was the best equipped out of the crew for dealing with this.

It wasn’t common, or something that anyone bragged about doing, but some of the small-time operations back in Russia sometimes sent armed kids after delivery guys, hoping they’d be caught off guard.  It worked sometimes, sure, because there was a part of a normal person’s brain that just couldn’t put together “small child” and “weapon” fast enough to respond—but normal people didn’t last that long in the mafiya.  Your brain had to adjust.  You had to become the kind of person who would look at a kid with a weapon and see a threat, instead of an innocent or a victim.

Lasse had reasons for joining Celestial Being.

What he didn’t have was the first clue what this kid was doing on the ship. He had no idea why there would even _be_ a kid in Setsuna’s quarters.  Or how the rest of them could’ve missed it—Ptolemy wasn’t big enough to hide _anyone_ in, really.

For now, though, his priority was disarming the kid before anyone got seriously injured.

The kid was snarling and yelling in a language Lasse didn’t know now, and also moving _really_ fast; Lasse was reminded of Setsuna in Exia, when he was cornered and using one of Exia’s smaller energy swords.  Lasse had to dodge three well-aimed slashes before he managed to grab the kid by wrist, in the hope that if he squeezed a bit the kid would drop the knife.

The kid kept his hold on it and Lasse had to let up before he left bruises.  He tried twisting the kid’s arm behind his back instead.  He _still_ didn’t drop the knife, but Lasse saw his grip loosen.  He took advantage, prying the knife out of the kid’s fingers with his other hand and then tucking it into his belt.  He didn’t like having it on his body, but kicking it away across the floor or something risked the kid diving for it the moment Lasse let him out of the hold.

He let him free, and the kid immediately pivoted and attempted to grab the knife, still shouting.  Lasse grabbed him by the shoulder to keep him out of arm’s length from his belt, which kept him away from the knife but didn’t slow down the yelling at all.  Lasse _seriously_ had no idea what language that was, which ruled out a fair number of languages.  Then again, now that he had a bit of a better look at the kid’s face, he looked kind of like Setsuna, and Lasse’s linguistic expertise was more concentrated around the northern bit of the HRL than the Middle East.

English was always worth a shot, though.  “Listen, kid, I’m not here to hurt you, and I’d really like you to stop trying to hurt me.”

The kid still looked confused, but he did at least stop making desperate flailing reaches for the knife.

Lasse took his hand off the kid’s shoulder, backed up a step, and put his hands up in front of him, slowly and carefully.  “I’m not armed, see?  So maybe you can stop with the knife?”

That was when both of them heard footsteps approaching.  The kid turned toward the noise and seemed about ready to go and attack whoever was coming down the hallway, so Lasse grabbed him by the shoulder.  He really hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to physically picking the little hellion up.

Fortunately, it was Ian, followed by a teenager a bit younger than Setsuna.  Lasse had no idea where the teenager had come from, but neither he nor Ian looked like an obvious physical threat.  Lasse, meanwhile, had to admit that his habit of wearing extremely tight muscle shirts coupled with his build made him pretty intimidating even when he wasn’t trying for it, which might’ve been part of what set the kid off in the first place.

Ian raised a hand in greeting.  Beside him, the teenager glanced off to the side, hands tucked deep into the pockets of too-big jeans.  There was something about the way he was dressed—that shirt and the color of those jeans, and the _hairstyle—_

Lasse looked down at the kid he’d just fought.  What he was wearing—it kind of looked like one of those traditional robes Arabic men wore, if you weren’t paying attention, which Lasse really hadn’t been, on account of the knife.  But now that he _was_ …that wasn’t a robe.  It was one of Setsuna’s shirts, it just came down far enough on the kid to look like a full outfit.  More importantly, he was also wearing Setsuna’s red scarf, and Lasse was pretty sure the Setsuna only had one of those.

Had the kid stolen it?  _Why?_   It wasn’t even practical for fighting in—if Lasse hadn’t been fighting to disarm rather than do permanent damage, that scarf would’ve been the easiest and fastest way to take the kid down.

Something was weird here.

“Remember that broken GN Drive I mentioned earlier?” Ian asked, wry.  “I think it did a little more than make the Meisters sick.”

Lasse swore.

“What are Meisters?” Lockon Stratos, all less than five feet of him, asked.

“Some of the other guys who work here,” Lasse said absently.  “Sorry for swearing.  My name’s Lasse, and this is—”

Ian cut him off.  “We’ll probably have to get to a computer and use a translation program to ask him his name,” he said.  “It’s not Setsuna, though.  He’s not old enough for that.”

Lockon seemed confused by the exchange, but didn’t push the matter.  “I’m Neil,” he said.

Ian shot Lasse a look that plainly said, _You started this_.

“Nice to meet you, Neil!” Lasse said.  “Can I borrow, um, Mr. Vashti for a second?  I need to talk to him about something.”

That made Neil look suspicious, but he nodded.

Setsuna—and it really _was_ Setsuna, they had the same cowlicks and everything—had settled down now.  Maybe seeing that no one except him was looking for a fight was enough to convince him that Lasse had come in peace?  It was worth hoping.  Gingerly, Lasse withdrew his hand from Setsuna’s shoulder and motioned Ian over to the door, hoping the kids would be safe unsupervised for a few seconds.

“You programmed the doors, right?” Lasse asked.  “So you can unlock them.”

Ian nodded.  “Why does that matter?  He’s out here, and he seems comfortable enough in those clothes.”

Lasse pulled the knife out of his belt and offered it to Ian hilt-first.  “I need you to lock this back in Setsuna’s room where the tiny version can’t get to it.”

Ian’s face went grey.  “He tried to _knife_ you?”

“It’s not really that shocking,” Lasse said, keeping his tone calm and even.  To Ian, it clearly was, but it was their job not to get upset in front of the kids.  “He wasn’t that old when he came to CB, but his combat scores were off the charts already.  He had to have been training a while.  And he woke up someplace unfamiliar, without a way to speak the language.  If it was me, I’d have tried to find a weapon, too, I just wouldn’t have been as good with it.”

“Yeah, Lo—er—Neil thought I was a kidnapper,” Ian said.  “Think he was planning to use Lockon’s rifle like a baseball bat if it came down to it.”

“Why wouldn’t he just use the rifle?” Lasse asked.

“He’s a kid,” Ian said.   “And unlike little Setsuna, I don’t think anyone’s trained him with anything.  But he’s at least old enough to know he could’ve hurt someone with the rifle if he handled it wrong.”  He took the knife from Ian.  “I’m gonna lock this up, and then we’re going to find Ms. Sumeragi.  She needs to know about this.”

Lasse quirked an eyebrow.  “She’s looking for Tieria, now.  Chances are she already knows.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Soran wasn’t sure why the two adults had bothered moving away from him to talk.  He didn’t understand enough English to know what they were saying anyway.  He knew it was English, at least—the men that Mr. Al-Saachez bought weapons from spoke that language, and there was a distinct pattern to it, but Soran only knew a few words.  It wasn’t important enough for them to waste time learning, Mr. Al-Saachez said.  The English men wanted to build solar reactors, and did not believe in God.  Nothing they said would be of any worth.

Except now, when he was the prisoner of those men…yes, their words would be useful to know.  They might be deciding to kill him.  And he didn’t even have a knife anymore, so he was down to his fists as a method of self-defense.

He didn’t understand this place at all.  If they wanted to keep him prisoner, why hold him in a room where there were knives and guns?  He’d tried to reach the guns, but those were stored too high, but one of the knives had been hanging over the edge of a desk, well within reach.  He also didn’t understand the clothes they had there.  The odd, oversized _thwab_ he’d woken up in didn’t fit, and neither did his socks, not that he was used to wearing _those_.  There had also been a pair of adult-sized pants and an odd, thick sash lying on the bed he’d woken up in, but he hadn’t been able to understand their purpose, so he’d ignored them entirely.  Besides, what good was leaving him in a room if they left it unlocked?  These men were very odd, and perhaps not especially intelligent.

He glanced over at the other boy.  He was older than any of the others in the KPSA, maybe a teenager, but not a very old one. He was white like the other men, but his hair was brown instead of black, so he might not be related to them.  He looked nervous and uncomfortable.  Was he a prisoner, too?  Maybe he would speak a language Soran knew.

“Do you know what is happening?” Soran asked, slowly, because Kurdish was probably not this boy’s first language.  The boy just blinked at him, so he switched to Arabic, and then to a few of the smaller local languages he’d learned in the marketplace as a young child.

The boy said something in English that sounded apologetic.  One of the words sounded like the English term for “no,” so Soran took that to mean he didn’t understand any of what he’d said.  The boy continued, and used the word “English,” like the muscular man had before.  Probably he was asking if Soran spoke that language.

“ _No English_ ,” Soran said. 

The boy frowned, and slouched even more. 

While Soran had been talking to the boy, one of the men had gone inside of the room where Soran had woken up.  He was coming out, now.  Soran hadn’t even noticed.  He glanced up at the older boy, but he didn’t even seem concerned.  How foolish.  If the other boy was a prisoner, he was a civilian for certain, not a fighter like Soran.

Why were both of them being kept in the same place, then? The KPSA had carried out attacks on countries where there were white people who spoke English, Soran knew that much.  So that was enough reason for him to be a captive—but it didn’t explain this older boy.

Mr. Al-Saachez would say that he should just stay silent and loyal, and die if it was needed, with the knowledge that he would be honored in heaven for his bravery.  But he didn’t want to do that.  The way that Mr. Al-Saachez talked about God, saying that God wanted them to _die_ in order to stop some solar reactors even though no one had really ever explained to Soran what exactly a solar reactor was other than heretical, it was starting to not make sense to him.

If Mr. Al-Saachez were here, he’d certainly rebuke Soran for his disbelief.  But he wasn’t.  And Soran didn’t want to die.  So for now, when no one was watching, maybe he would try giving himself his own orders.

He didn’t know where he was.  The window in the room where he woke up made it look like it was night outside, but he couldn’t see any buildings or what the ground outside was like.  He also didn’t know for certain that any of these people were the enemy.  But the man with muscles had fought him and taken his weapon and held on to him when he wanted to run away.  And the man with glasses went away to talk with that man.  That meant they might be threats.  But the teenager was standing away from them, and seemed guarded and wary, so he might not be.

So his goal was to make an alliance with the teenager and escape.  The teenager could go to his home and he could return to the KPSA.  Or…maybe not return to the KPSA.  Did he want to go back?  Did he have a choice?

_No, no, too complicated_ , he thought, physically shaking his head.  _Get out of here first.  Decide the rest later._

He glanced up at the teenager, and tapped him carefully on the arm.  The teenager looked down, surprised.

Soran tugged at his arm, lightly, hoping that the boy would understand that he wanted to hold onto his hand.  It felt silly and stupid, pretending to be a harmless child, but the easiest way to befriend the boy was likely convincing him that he was the one taking care of Soran, rather than the other way around.

The boy’s cheeks flushed red, and he didn’t respond for a moment.  Then, he carefully pulled his hand out of his pocket and wrapped it around Soran’s. 

It was coated with scar tissue, as bad as Kesra’s from after he found the new Azadistani landmines outside the village the hard way. So, this boy _wasn’t_ a civilian, after all.

Soran smiled at him, heartened, and the teenager stared back in obvious confusion, with just a hint of shame at the edges.  Soran wasn’t sure what _that_ was about; Soran had known many who died of infection, in the village and the KPSA alike, so to survive through such wounds was clearly a mark of God’s favor.    Perhaps he was one of those who felt guilt at surviving when another had not?  Soran could not ask in English, and the teenager could not answer in a language that Soran understood, so there was no way to know.

He squeezed the boy’s hand tightly, knowing that scar tissue was often a bit numb—he had enough of his own, to know that much—and hoped that at least some of his meaning was conveyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Frankly nothing that is past canon, but: canon-typical violence and injury, including violence and injury to children, child soldiers, implied past child murder (including possibly by a canon character), discussion of past serious injury, a narrator who is religiously indoctrinated and traumatized. Really, all of this is canon-typical, I’m mostly just warning anyone who, like me, was hoping this might be a cute kidfic (I promise bits will be cute. Like, briefly). 
> 
> Laora’s headcanon that I borrowed was the one about Neil wearing gloves as an adult to hide scarring from trying dig his family out of the rubble of the mall. If you’d like further detail on this, read Laora’s [heavens turn away as the skies come crashing down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984598) and [sapphireswimming’s](http://sapphireswimming.tumblr.com/) [Tacenda](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11813801/1/Tacenda). 
> 
> A thwab is an Arab-style men’s robe like what Rasa Massoud Rachmadi wears; Soran would be familiar with them as well. The “weird sash” is his belt, which is huge to a child. In the ep. 1 flashback Soran didn’t appear to be wearing any socks, so he isn’t used to wearing those either. 
> 
> After a fair amount of internal debate, I decided to refer to God as “God” in the narrative, as Allah is technically just an Arabic word for “God” and Soran’s not speaking Arabic, as well as because it’s how he refers to the Islamic god in the official dub. That said, I don’t practice Islam, and I’m not particularly knowledgeable regarding it, beyond what I can research. Frankly, I’m basing the way I write Soran more on my knowledge of cultlike religious groups and radicalized conservative religion in general than I am on my knowledge of Islam, which I think is appropriate given the way the KPSA operated. 
> 
> For those of you keeping track, Soran is 9 (a year younger than he is in the first scene of the show) and Neil is 15 (it’s been a year since the bombing for him).
> 
> Thank you all for reading! This fic is still gonna be super-erratic posting-wise, but I guess the upside is that I will make a good-faith effort not to do cliffhangers?

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for: A child thinking he’s in peril, up to and including thinking that he’s been kidnapped by an adult who changed his clothing while he was asleep and is possibly a pervert.
> 
> This is going to be updated pretty sporadically, since I have a long ongoing fic for the DCMK fandom that takes precedence. That said, I’m definitely planning to finish this, because, well, this situation has a lot of fun potential. Can’t guarantee you an update date but it’ll happen!


End file.
